


lay your head on my stomach (and listen for the waves)

by pmonkey816



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (no really), F/F, Family Feels, Fluff, Smutsmutsmut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmonkey816/pseuds/pmonkey816
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Isabela roleplay trying for a baby. From a kmeme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop filling these, send help. Also, this may be the most fluffy thing I've ever written?

Hawke sighed as she pushed open the door to her estate, the tension in her shoulders cranked unbelievably tight from the last round of blood mages that needed to be... dealt with. She held the undying hope that one day, one of them would prove her wrong and want to talk it out, maybe over a bottle of that Antivan brandy she always seemed to find on their corpses. But no, they always wanted to summon demons and hurl fire at her. She slammed the door shut behind her with the heel of her boot, slinging the heavy, fur-lined coat from her shoulders to the floor of the foyer. It wasn't until she entered the sitting room that she realized something was amiss. The fire was burning—no surprise there, Orana was incredibly good at staying atop her duties, even with Bodahn and Sandal around less and less as they made preparations for Orlais—but her servant was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Orana?” She called, listening for the sound of her lute, or the Tevene curses she let loose when cleaning a particularly difficult bloodstain from Hawke's clothing and she thought no one could hear her. “Are you here?”

 

The scent of spices—somehow simultaneously familiar and exotic—made her stomach rumble, and she followed the aroma to the kitchen where she was met not with Orana's wide-eyed surprise, but instead with her favorite sight in all of Thedas. There was Isabela, back turned as she fussed over a pot, wearing nothing but her boots and an apron tied around her. Which meant the entire length of her back was easily exposed to anyone standing behind her. And what a _lovely_ back it was.

 

Hawke couldn't contain the groan that spilled from her lips. Food, her bed, and Isabela in it? She could think of nothing she wanted more.

 

Isabela jumped, turning to Hawke with a smile and a hand to her chest.

 

“Oh, Maker's breath! Darling, you scared me!” Her voice was bright and eager, her smile wide. With downcast eyes, she walked over to where Hawke was standing. Instead of her normal cheek and innuendo, she glanced up at Hawke from under her lashes, batting them shyly. “Excuse me for being so... immodest.” She giggled (giggled?), reaching up to finger at the sleeve of Hawke's shift. “It was so warm in the kitchen, and I wasn't expecting you home until later...” She trailed off, leaning up to place a sweet, chaste (chaste!) kiss to Hawke's lips. “I'm glad you're here now, though. Dinner is just about finished. You go sit down and relax, I'm sure you've had such a trying day.”

 

She disappeared through the doorway and Hawke frowned, glancing from the covered pot on the fire to the open doorway into the dining room—set with the fine Amell china they'd recovered from the cellars at her mother's behest. What in the name of the Maker was going on? Isabela had been nearly naked and wasn't trying to sleep with her? If it had been anyone else, leaving to put clothes on would be normal, but this was Isabela. What was she playing at?

 

Hawke shook the thoughts and moved into the dining room, taking a seat at the head of the table which held not only the beautiful heirlooms of her family, but a large bouquet of flowers in the center. Surely, Isabela had not gathered fresh flowers for a centerpiece. Perhaps Merrill had come by earlier and dropped them off?

 

“There. Much better, don't you think?” Isabela walked in carrying the pot of food, the usual swagger of her hips confined to something horrifyingly innocent (Hawke _liked_ the ways those hips looked in a swagger, they were _made_ to swagger). She was dressed now, in a tight yet modest thing Leandra had bought for Hawke years ago, before...

 

No, she wouldn't think of it. It had been enough for her to cry on Isabela's shoulder last night when her nightmares roused her to the lonely emptiness of her estate. It had held so many hopes, so many dreams for a family: Bethany as loving aunt and Carver the playful uncle, Leandra the ever-doting grandmother, family meals at the table, storytelling in the evenings by the hearth; a future that never could be now. She didn't want to think of it—despite all of the love and family she still had in Kirkwall, her future seemed destitute in comparison to the one she'd always pictured for herself.

 

No, she reaffirmed for herself. She wouldn't think of it. In fact, she didn't want to think at all. “Actually, I think I preferred the view before.” Hawke smirked, leaning forward to catch Isabela around the waist and drag her closer. She'd set the pot down already, and let herself be pulled forward into Hawke's lap, giggling like a peasant girl as she fell forward to straddle her.

 

“You're too kind to me, dearest.” She kissed her again, softly, sweetly, never deeper than the slightest brushes of lips. “But there will be plenty of time for that later.” She reached up to brush Hawke's bangs off to the side. “After all, what will the neighbors think if we don't start filling up this house with children?”

 

Hawke's body flushed with ice, the sentiment sending an aching twinge through her heart. A family with Isabela? Impossible, no matter how much she may want it. She chuckled uneasily, pressing a hand first to Isabela's forehead, then her cheeks, checking for any unusual heat, any sign of fever or illness. Anything to explain the sudden turnaround in her personality. “I know you never had a good relationship with your mother, Isabela, but surely someone explained to you how babies are made?” One eyebrow cocked as the other furrowed, even the humor of the situation doing very little to settle her wariness. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

 

“Of course I know, you goose.” Isabela tutted, shaking her head lightly.

 

“Then you know that you and I can't—Unless the mages have made some grand breakthrough in fertility I haven't heard of?”

 

Isabela frowned, eyes flickering across Hawke's face for a moment seeming almost familiar before they closed off again, and she pulled back. “Nonsense.” She stood, turning to ladle food onto Hawke's plate. “You're simply tired. Go ahead and eat, you'll need the strength for tonight.”

 

Hawke raised the fork to her face and sniffed at it. It smelled all right, so she was pretty certain Isabela wasn't trying to poison her. “Oh? And why's that?” She asked absentmindedly, taking a small bit into her mouth. Deciding it wasn't half-bad (she wouldn't call it _good_ , either. Cooking was not Isabela's strong point), she took a forkful.

 

“Well, because I'm... particularly fertile right now.” Isabela responded almost nervously, taking a bite of her own food.

 

Hawke sputtered, sending chunks of meat flying both out onto the table and into the back of her throat. She brought  the napkin up to cover her mouth as she attempted to clear enough of a way for her to breathe. “What?”

 

“Well, it's been two weeks since I bled last.” Isabela shifted uncomfortably as she explained, keeping her eyes on her food. “My mother always said that was when a woman was at her most fecund.”

 

Hawke leaned back, shaking her head. “All right,” she threw her napkin onto the table. “What is this? A test? A joke?”

 

Isabela frowned, keeping her eyes on the tabletop. “I... don't understand, darling. Why would I joke about this? We've wanted children for so long.”  Her hand came up to rest against her stomach, and Hawke bit down on the nausea that welled in her at the sight.

 

“Maker, am I in the fade?” She rubbed at her face with her hands, wiping wearily at her skin. “I must be in the bloody fade. What are you, a desire demon? No, a desire demon being you would be _easy_. A pride demon, then.” She nodded curtly. “Yes, must be pride.”

 

Isabela rolled her eyes, then, and the act was so very  _her_ Hawke was sure it could be no one else. “Andraste's tits, Hawke, do you have to question  _everything_ ?” 

 

Hawke frowned. “So, it was a joke.” Tears stung in the back of her eyes and she blinked up at the ceiling to try to push them away. “I can take a good ribbing, Isabela, you know I can, but this... after last night...” She shut her eyes and let out a breath through her nose. “You don't need to prove to me how much of a bitch you can be.” It was supposed to come out dry and sarcastic, but instead it was acrid, a poison to the air in the room.

 

“This is what I get for trying to do something for you.” The chair scraped across the floor when Isabela stood, and Hawke fully expected to hear her footsteps stomp out the door. Instead, she heard them begin to bounce from table to wall and back again. “I don't know how to do....” The footsteps ceased. “This. Us. Balls.”

 

“From what you've told me you know exactly how to do balls. In a colorful variety of ways.” Hawke quipped, opening her eyes finally to catch another eye roll from Isabela.

 

“You know what I meant.”

 

She swung to her feet and walked over to take Isabela's face in her hands,  to force her manic, flighty attention . “What's this about, then? Our conversation last night?”

 

Isabela nodded weakly, looking up into Hawke's eyes. “I'll never be this person for you, Hawke. But I thought every now and again it might be fun to pretend I was, to take care of you like you take care of...” Her gaze skittered away as she finished, “everyone else.”

 

“You really know how to get a girl going, don't you?” Hawke smiled, stroking her thumb across Isabela's full lips, soft and warm beneath her thumb. Maker, everything about her was perfect. For a second, she let herself believe things could last between them, that Isabela wouldn't just get scared and run away again when things got too serious. It felt... nice. It felt like love. But, no. What a ridiculous thing to think, that it was anything but stupid to love someone who would always have one foot out the door.

 

Isabela sighed. “I get it, Hawke, it was a dumb idea.” She moved to pull back.

 

“No.” Hawke held her still, leaning in to kiss her. “It wasn't dumb. But we don't have to do it if you don't want to.”

 

* * *

 

Isabela was sure that Hawke's eyes weren't really just normal human eyes. She was fairly certain that those eyes held a more powerful magic than any amulet or charm in Thedas. Those eyes pulled her in, held her without touching, sometimes sending electric jolts of pleasure that sizzled and tingled her skin, others warming her heart. With just one look, Hawke could make her feel... safe. It was an odd, almost unrecognizable feeling after years of having no one but herself. She'd only felt that way once before, but even he had never had such power over her.

  
She _liked_ it. Damn it all, she was going soft.

 

“I want to.” Even her voice was soft now, almost demure. Isabela was never these things for other people, but she'd realized (with an appropriate amount of horror) that she would be anything that woman asked her to be. She'd figured it out during the many long nights she was gone, drinking and fighting and fucking her way through half of Thedas. She had her fair share of sex in those three years, trying to outrun the ghost of Hawke's lips, but it never quite felt the same. Every wave of pleasure seeming less satisfying than the last. When she opened her eyes, it was never Hawke staring back at her with that same expression she was wearing now: cautiously optimistic smile, eyes bright and starry, loving.

 

Balls. She was lost.

 

“You know, my dear,” Hawke began, leaning down so that she was murmuring against Isabela's lips, sending flashes of searing pleasure straight to her loins. “As much as I love your cooking, I don't know if I can wait to start our family.” Her hands came to rest on Isabela's thighs, slowly running up the thick length of them before coming to rest on her ass. She gave a sharp tug forward, forcing their hips together.

 

The combination of rough hands pressed into her and the feeling of Hawke's body so tight against her own roused a moan from somewhere deep in Isabela's chest. “Hawke.” The word slipped out in a breathy whimper, surprising even Isabela herself. Normally, she'd be horrified at how needy it sounded, but with their roleplay cloaking all her actions, it simply encouraged her to rock herself into Hawke's body again.

 

Hawke grinned roguishly, a devilishly handsome figure in the flickering light of the fire. “I'm sorry, I know it's terribly improper. I just don't know if I can wait to have you. It's been a very long day,” she placed a gentle kiss to Isabela's neck, right in that spot that always made her heart flutter and her cunt ache, “and I've been thinking about this the entire time we've been apart.”

 

“Yes.” Isabela gasped out. “I've been thinking about you, too. Take me to bed. Don't make me wait, darling.” She tried to keep herself in character, but it was hard when all she wanted to do was take Hawke on the table—to knock that beautiful, old china to the ground and shatter it all, just so she could have that perfect body tightening around her sooner.

 

Hawke swooped down and swept Isabela's feet out from under her, and Isabela tightened her hold around her neck with a little yelp of surprise. Hawke wanted to be cheeky, did she? Well, two could play those games. She leaned forward to brush her lips along the shell of Hawke's ear, feeling the grip around her knees tighten.

 

“Just like our wedding night, darling. Do you remember that, our first time? I do.” She brushed fingers along Hawke's neck, charting invisible courses to all of Isabela's favorite spots—the place where her heart pounded against her skin, the vulnerable ripple of her throat, the dips and juts of her collarbone. “The taste of you—Maker, I don't know how I _lived_ before I tasted you. Nothing before or since has ever been so wonderful.” She kissed Hawke's jaw, tight from focusing on traversing the stairs without killing either of them. “You were finally mine.” The word felt strange coming out of her mouth, referring to Hawke as she would a prized possession, but it somehow seemed the right thing to say.

 

Hawke nudged the door open with her foot, then slammed it shut again behind her. She draped Isabela across the bed, hovering over her. “Of course I remember. Often late at night when you're... otherwise occupied, I lay on this very bed and remember you that evening.” Her eyes flashed with the memory, the look sending a thrill down Isabela's spine. Then the something dangerous was gone and those eyes were pulling back, looking down her body. “May I undress you?”

 

Isabela just swallowed and nodded, trying to keep herself the blushing virginal newlywed but _Andraste's tits_ Hawke was sure taking her time with this. She stood and turned, lifting her hair up out of the way while Hawke slowly unlaced the back. It was driving her mad, the soft brush of knuckles against each new bit of skin the laces exposed. It was deliberate, she was sure of it, and if Hawke thought she was getting away with it without payback later, she was sorely mistaken. She let out a little whimper when Hawke finally reached the final one, and slipped her hands down to tease first at her ass, then around to her hips and stomach. Isabela whined impatiently, pressing back against Hawke, who brought her hands up to slip the dress off her shoulders and let it drop and pool at her feet.

 

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Hawke gasped into her ear, grinding her hips even harder into her upon finding she hadn't been wearing any smallclothes. “You are eager tonight, aren't you?” A hand came up to cup one of her breasts, the other continued to tease along her hipbone. Isabela didn't respond, just whimpered and reached back to take a handful of Hawke's hair and a handful of the clothing at her hip to try to pull her even closer. Hawke paused, the heat of her thumb hovering just over Isabela's nipple, a promising tease of what was to come. “Come now, dearest. Don't be rude, I asked you a question.”

 

“Yes.” She gasped, tugging on her again. “Yes, I'm eager for you, darling. For your touch, and your seed, and your baby.” Hawke's hips jerked into her and the thumb finally grazed across the tip of her nipple, making her clit pulse with pleasure. “Do you want that, too?” She asked, holding her breath. She knew it was a game, that whatever Hawke said now really shouldn't mean anything, probably didn't. But still, her chest tightened so she couldn't breathe without Hawke's response.

 

“More than anything, my love.” Hawke whispered softly, the roughness of her embrace softening just the slightest bit.

 

Isabela's heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed down the nervous ball of phlegm in the back of her throat. Instead, she forced her face into a seductive smile and turned, fingering the collar of Hawke's shirt. “Then let's get you out of this, shall we?” She tugged up on the collar and tossed the shift aside, then set about unwrapping the cloth Hawke used to keep her breasts pressed down during battle. Then, she knelt and undid the laces on her boots and pants. She reached over to where she'd stashed her satchel earlier, and pulled the cock out from it.

 

She glanced up to see Hawke's reaction, and grinned to see she was eyeing the toy hungrily. “Always prepared, aren't we?” Hawke growled, eyes not leaving the toy as Isabela guided her into the harness and adjusted the straps.

 

“Of course, sweet thing.” She replied, letting herself break character with a cocky smirk. “Especially when it comes to a good rutting with my favorite Champion. Does that feel good? Not too tight?”

 

Hawke nodded and reached down to stroke her fingers along Isabela's chin. She grinned, brushing her lips along the shaft of the toy. Hawke's formerly loose fingers curled, the other tightening to an iron grip on her shoulder, and she let out a shaky breath. Isabela smiled to herself, feeling the anticipation of the rest of the night begin to burn in the core of her, sending shockwaves of heat to the tips of her fingers and toes.

 

Hawke tugged on her shoulders, encouraging her up. “I want to be inside you.” It was half-plea, half-command, and all sex and what sort of person would Isabela be if she didn't oblige such a beautiful request? Hawke backed up until she could sit on the edge of the bed and encouraged Isabela back into her arms. “Come here.”

 

Isabela bit her lip, taking in the sight of Hawke sitting there, cock jutting from her hips, a desperate need written across her face, and she could do better for her, she knew she could. She could give her what has only ever been taken from her before. She swallowed hard and sat on the bed, scooting back until she could lay back into the pillows.

 

“No, like this.” She said softly. “The way a man should lay with his wife.”

 

Hawke frowned, etching deep lines into her forehead and the corners of her mouth. “Are you sure?”

 

“I'm sure.” She took in a shaky breath, bracing herself for Hawke's weight against her body, pinning her down. It wasn't as bad as she remembered, honestly. Hawke was careful, pressing her weight onto Isabela as little as possible. She felt the toy brush against her sex and she shuddered, a moan slipping from her lips. “I want to have a family with you so badly, darling. Haven't I been patient enough? Haven't I been a good wife?” Hawke groaned, positioning the head of the toy at Isabela's entrance and pressing forward slightly, just enough to stretch her opening but not give her any real friction. She grasped at Hawke's back, blunt nails scraping deep into the skin there. Hawke looked down into her eyes, asking permission with her gaze. “Take me, Hawke. Make me yours. Please.” Her hips rolled forward, trying to force the toy inside her, trying to take as much of it as she could with Hawke still holding it in position.

 

Hawke moved her hand and pressed forward, filling her with one long, smooth thrust. Isabela cried out and Hawke groaned, pressing her face into the crook of Isabela's neck. “Oh. Oh, Maker, Bela. I... shit. You feel so good.”

 

This time, her nails scraped where she grasped at the back of Hawke's neck. Hawke's hips jerked forward in instinctual bursts at first, transitioning quickly into a smooth, easy rhythm. Isabela shut her eyes, losing herself in the feeling. It was _good_ , impossibly good. Hawke's weight on top of her didn't feel anything like Luis, it wasn't possessive, wasn't taking, just giving wave after wave of pleasure. Instead, it was a reminder of her presence, of her tender care for Isabela. Luis had never felt this skilled, either. Wait, why was she thinking of him? A sudden flash of cold left her shivering, and she opened her eyes and turned, trying to catch a flash of Hawke's eyes, knowing they would calm her. But all she could see was dark hair, and all she could feel was thrusting weight, all she could hear were the little grunts of exertion and pleasure. The cock thrust quicker inside her and she whimpered, not in pleasure this time but in pain as she felt herself tense and tighten uncomfortably around what was now beginning to feel like an unpleasant intrusion.

 

It was coming back in waves, the scent of her husband's sweat, and the quick, brutal pace he used—designed only for his own pleasure. It blurred with the memories of all the other men who'd taken her this way, used her and tossed her aside without a care for her needs or desires. “Hawke.” She gasped the word out, begging for that head to pull back and for it to be her, praying her life until now wasn't some fantasy she'd created to escape her life as a rich man's pet. But Hawke didn't seem to hear her, or perhaps mistook her cry for one of pleasure. “Hawke!” She repeated, more urgently this time, desperately shoving at her shoulders, trying to push her away.

 

That grabbed her attention and she stopped completely, stumbling back, the cock slipping out of Isabela as Hawke put some distance between them.

 

“What? What's wrong? Are you all right?” The tender warmth in her eyes eased the chill, and Isabela let her eyes fall shut again, basking in the flood of relief that hit her.

 

“I—yes.” She took deep breaths, willing her body to calm down. It had taken some time, after escaping her husband, to be able to have sex without panicking, and she'd gotten good at quelling it. “I just needed to see you.” She reached out and took Hawke by the arm, pulling her close again.

 

“Are you sure? We can stop, if you want. Or change positions.” Hawke offered, letting herself be pulled back on top of Isabela, though now she held herself aloft on her elbows, being careful not to let the toy rub up against her. “You know I love watching you when you're on top.”

 

The words began to thaw her, began to warm her again. “No, I want you like this.” She said firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Just—stay with me, okay? Talk to me.”

  
Hawke nodded, though worry still creased a line between her brows. “Okay, love.” She stroked at the path of a tear Isabela hadn't realized had fallen. Curse it all, she hated crying, especially in front of people. _Love._ The word stoked the fire in her again against her will. That was right, Hawke loved her. Hawke would never hurt her, only wanted the best for her.

 

Isabela reached down and guided the cock back into position. “You're so good to me, darling.” She managed, still wound tight enough that she winced a little when Hawke pushed forward, though she felt the tension melting out of her with the gentle care her lover was taking to not hurt her, to push into her as slowly as Isabela's body needed.

 

“Only as good as you deserve, Isabela.” Hawke responded, leaning down to kiss her softly. Isabela relaxed, gushed wetness with the sort of force only an orgasm usually gave her, and the toy slipped in easily the rest of the way until it was buried deep inside her. Isabela's pleasure returned full force. Hawke pulled out and thrust gently back in. She let out a long, hoarse moan, and did it again, just the slightest bit harder this time. “Is this okay? Does this feel good?”

 

“Yes.” She grasped at Hawke's face and held it there so she could watch her pleasure unravel. “I love the way you feel when you're inside me.” She wouldn't slip away from this. She wanted it, wanted Hawke, wanted to stay like this forever, the two of them locked so intimately.

 

“I love being inside you.” Hawke whimpered back, thrusting again, beginning to set a steady rhythm. “I want to fuck you until our bodies don't work anymore, until we're old and grey and our children have all left home to start families of their own.”

 

The words sent a shiver down Isabela's spine. She'd never realized how badly she'd wanted it, wanted this. Wanted Hawke's baby inside her, wanted to watch Hawke read bedtime stories and tuck her child into bed. _Their_ child. “Please, Hawke.” She thrust up against her, already feeling on the edge of the grand pleasure she spent most of her time chasing. “Spill in me, give me a child, make us a family. _Please._ ” She sounded desperate in a way she took great care to never feel, and it surprised her to realize she wasn't pretending anymore.

 

Hawke grunted and picked up her pace. “You'll be so beautiful pregnant.” She brought up a hand to pinch Isabela's nipple, making her cry out and rock harder against the cock filling her so perfectly, rubbing against her walls so excruciatingly, angling to hit that place inside her that drove her mad with the pressure of her own desire. “When your tits get even bigger with milk, and your hips even rounder.” She let out another little cry, biting down hard on her own lip. “Your stomach swollen with a child— _our_ child, our future.” Hawke shut her eyes, face twisting in pleasure and a deep pain Isabela only recognized from the weeks following Leandra's death and the night before, when Hawke had shown up at the Hanged Man and buried herself in Isabela's arms, already shaking with tears.

 

It occurred to her that Hawke wasn't pretending anymore, either. Why didn't that scare her?

 

She was so filled with Hawke, so surrounded by her, by the pleasure and sweat finding the scant cracks between their body to linger in. “I'm... ah... so close.” She gasped out, then wrapped her legs around Hawke's hips for better leverage. Hawke leaned her forehead against Isabela's, her breath coming in shuddering bursts against her face now. Her pace was punishing, short and fast and hard, hitting that pleasure spot inside Isabela over and over again. Isabela whimpered again, feeling herself beginning to rise over the crest, teetering in that moment just before she fell. She began to whine, chanting Hawke's name like it was written by Andraste herself.

 

“I love you.” Hawke whispered, glancing from one eye to another. So close, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking, but it didn't really matter anyway because those words sent her tumbling over the edge with a gasp and a cry, blocking out any sensation of rational thought.

 

Hawke must've come, too, because when Isabela came back to herself, she found Hawke had collapsed next to her, eyes shut tight and breaths coming in shallow gasps. She studied her for a second, the thin sheen of sweat making her lean body glisten, her nipples pert and twisted to attention, soaked toy still jutting from between her legs. She wanted this, forever. It was the second time she'd had the realization that night, and it sent her stomach tumbling over itself into tight knots.

 

“Hawke, I have to tell you something.” She said, heart thundering in her chest. There was no going back after this, she knew. She couldn't tease something like this in front of Hawke and then take it away. If she said it, she was committing to it.

 

Hawke reached over and grabbed her hand, pressing a soft kiss into the palm. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

 

She nodded and swallowed the knot of anxiety at the back of her throat. She averted her eyes from Hawke's and instead took an interest in their joined hands. “While I was gone, I was at this bar in Denerim.” She started, releasing a shaky breath and letting her eyes fall shut. “There was this man there. He was absolutely gorgeous, and I knew right away that I had to have him.” She opened her eyes again to a deep frown on Hawke's lips. Shit.

 

“I don't want to hear this.” She moved to stand, but Isabela grabbed her and pulled her back down.

 

“Just wait, okay? I'm going somewhere with this.”

 

Hawke relaxed back into the sheets with an exasperated sigh. “Just... let me...” She trailed off and quickly unstrapped the toy from around her hips, dropping it on the nightstand. “All right. I'm all ears.”

 

Isabela would've laughed if she weren't so nervous, only Hawke could go from wielding a toy so expertly to feeling self-conscious about it. “He and I fucked.” She blurted, and though Hawke didn't attempt to leave again, she did turn her head to look at the wall. “That was just before I came back, so a little over a moon's cycle ago. I—“ She huffed out another breath. Now or never, Isabela. Say it, or don't. “I haven't bled since then. And... I've started to feel sick for no reason. Lowtown smells worse than normal, almost to the point where I can't stand it.”

 

“What are you saying?” Hawke was looking right at her now, lips pressed into a thin line.

 

“I know you're not this thick, Hawke.” She muttered, rolling her eyes. “I think I'm pregnant.”

 

Hawke blinked at her. “Is that what this is about, then? You wanted to make me feel like it was mine? So I would—what? Help you raise it? Pay to feed it?”

 

Isabela shuddered at the cruelty and ice in her voice, crossing her arms over her chest. “The man, the one I slept with—the reason I was so drawn to him, and the reason I came back right after we slept together—he told me his name. It was Daylen.” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Daylen _Amell._ And balls, Hawke, I should've realized it. The dark hair, the blue eyes, that stupid nose. He looked so much like you.”

 

There was a pause where Hawke was silent, and Isabela's heart thundered. _Please don't tell me to leave, I can't bear it._ “You're sure it's his?” She asked, voice much calmer, much softer than before.

 

She nodded. “I was going to get rid of it when I figured it out, but I just—couldn't. I didn't know why, until today.” She stared up at the ceiling. She could feel herself trembling under Hawke's gaze, terrified she'd send her away. “I had a piece of you growing inside of me, and I—” she choked out the words, barely controlling the sob that threatened to break through them, “ _wanted_ that.”

 

It was a startling revelation, even for her. She'd never thought of herself as a mother before, had never cared to, had never wanted to. Not even when she was a child did she dream of herself as a blushing bride or a devoted mother. But three long years away from Hawke had made it clear she couldn't live without her, and the images she'd conjured tonight of Hawke as a parent had set her heart racing with anticipation and excitement and _possibility_.

 

“How long do you have?” Hawke asked, voice raspy and raw.

 

“About eight months. And here, I thought you knew all about how babies are made.” She forced herself to look over with a smile on her face, though she doubted it was very convincing.

 

“No. I mean before it's too late to get rid of it. How long?”

 

Isabela's heart seized in her chest and the smile froze on her face. Hawke didn't want this. Shit, she never thought she'd be the one to mistake a roleplay for reality. “Until the next half moon, maybe a little longer, but I prefer to be on the safe side when it comes to these things.” She offered vaguely, shrugging. “Look, we don't have to make this into a whole ado, sweet thing. I'll take care of it tonight. It was a ridiculous idea, anyway.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, striding over to where she'd left her clothes earlier that day. “Can you imagine me as a mother?” She snorted out a laugh, though kept her back carefully turned away from Hawke so she couldn't see the tears that threatened her cheeks. “Poor wretch wouldn't stand a chance.”

 

“I'm not saying no, I just—” She heard rustling, and half-expected Hawke's heat to appear behind her, but the back of her body stayed woefully chilled. “Can I have some time to think about it? This isn't the sort of decision a person can make on a whim.”

 

Isabela bit at her lip. Hawke was right, of course, she was always the voice of reason. And Isabela was the opposite: The one who leapt before looking, who put herself in danger for fun. What kind of a parent could she be? “No, you're right. The world doesn't need any more fucked up children in it.” She thought of her own mother, pregnant from a situation not unlike her own. The only difference was she'd at least learned the man's name. She didn't need to pass that legacy on to a child.

 

“Isabela, come here.” It was gentle, but the words were still so obviously a command it sent a shiver of excitement down Isabela's spine. When Hawke got demanding, it usually meant the night was taking a turn for the better.

 

But she didn't think she could stand to face her now, so she stayed on the other side of the room. She finished lacing up her boots before she turned. “I think I'll pass on round two, sweet thing, I've got business to attend to.”

 

Hawke chuckled, shaking her head. “Must you always make things more difficult than they have to be? Just come here for a moment.”

 

“You know I don't do goodbye kisses, Hawke.” She tutted, feeling her familiar swagger and confidence begin to return. Each joke tamped down the aching sadness she felt when she looked at Hawke. When she thought of the future she'd almost had in reach and lost. When she thought of the child inside her, the child that was as close to Hawke's as she would ever get. Hawke's eyes snapped down to Isabela's stomach, and Isabela realized her hand had subconsciously settled there. She quickly dropped it and turned away again.

 

“Good thing I'm not asking for one, then.” She stretched her hands out behind her and leaned back onto them, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You know, the sooner you come over here, the sooner this conversation can be over.”

 

Isabela's hands dropped from where they'd been working to replace her earrings and she sighed with an exaggerated irritation that would make an Orlesian noblewoman jealous. “Why can't you ever let me have my way?”

 

Hawke shrugged one shoulder. “Where's the fun in that? I thought you were always up for a good tussle.”

 

Isabela quickly brushed her hair back, and tied her bandana at the nape of her neck. At least she was ready now, if she needed to make a hasty retreat. “Fine.” She walked over, standing a foot away in front of where Hawke was perched on the edge of the bed. “I'm here. What is it?”

 

Hawke looped an arm around Isabela's hips and pulled her so that she was standing between her legs. She looked up into Isabela's eyes, searching them silently for a minute before speaking. “I meant what I said.” Her voice was soft, any hint of teasing gone. “About wanting a family with you. But this is sudden. I just need a few days, all right?”

 

Isabela hated the little eddy of hope that swirled in her chest. She nodded. “Sounds good. Now, I've got to go see a man about a drink.”

 

“Wait.” Hawke tightened her grip on Isabela's hips, holding her in place. She brushed her hands up and under Isabela's tunic, exposing her smalls and then her hips and stomach, forcing the sash up so she could see more of it. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to the still-flat stomach, just above her womb.

 

Isabela let out a shuddering breath, and heat pooled again in her chest and groin. Her heart ached at Hawke's tenderness. She had to get out of here, before she said something else stupid. She cleared her throat and stepped back. “Thought I said I don't do goodbye kisses.” She threw over her shoulder as she walked away.

 

“Yes, but our child shouldn't suffer any loss of affection just because you're a heartless pirate.” Isabela paused in the doorway, a small smile fluttering the corners of her lips upward. She'd walked out of here without looking back before, she really should be able to do it again. _Our child_. The words echoed in her head, and she chanced a glance over her shoulder. Hawke was smiling at her, love heavy in her gaze. “And I think you're wrong. I think you'd be an incredible mother.”

 

The smile grew into a full-blown grin and she turned to hide it from Hawke. That woman didn't need anymore ammunition for her flaming ego. She turned and disappeared back to Lowtown, heart thrumming a cautiously hopeful tune in her chest.


	2. Epilogue

“Mami, what's a slattern?”

 

Isabela paused in playing with the wooden dragon in her hands, looking up and catching Aveline's eyes. A smirk mirrored on both of their faces, and Aveline raised an eyebrow, but otherwise kept her mouth shut (for once).

 

“Why do you ask, sweetness?”

 

The girl looked down to the doll in her hands, the knight-princess who had previously been in the process of slaying said dragon, a frown playing across her lips. “Estelle said her father said I was the child of a slattern because two girls can't have babies.”

 

Well. That certainly explained their daughter's lack of enthusiasm for her favorite game. Isabela had gotten so caught up in how remarkably similar she was to Hawke when she was clammed up and brooding, she'd almost forgotten to pry.

 

“Oh.” Isabela breathed out the word, now shifting her attention to where Hawke was reading by the fire.

 

Her lips had drawn into a tight, thin line. The Champion was not pleased. “I'll talk to them.” She ground out from between clenched teeth, “don't worry about it, Naishe.”

 

Their daughter picked at a loose thread on the doll for a moment, clearly thinking it over. “Is it true, Mother?”

 

Aveline gingerly placed the doll she'd been playing as (the gallant Ser Manhands, one of Naishe's favorites) and rose to her feet. “I just remembered I need to ask Orana... something.” She stood, bowing to the child. “I shall return posthaste, my liege.” She shared a knowing look with Isabela before disappearing up the stairs in search of their servant.

 

“Come here, sweetness.” Isabela coaxed the girl toward her lap with an outstretched arm, waiting to continue until she was settled and snuggled into her. Hawke came and sat next to her, too, wrapping one arm around Isabela's shoulders and stroking their daughter's hair with the other. “I'm going to tell you a story, is that okay?”

 

“Is it the one about the pirate's missing pegleg? Cause Mother told me not to let you tell me that one.” She asked without even looking up.

 

Isabela snorted, sharing a grin with Hawke. “No. That's a good one, but I'll let someone else tell it to you when you're older.” She leaned the side of her head against Hawke's, partially for comfort and strength and partially so she wouldn't have to see her face as she spoke. “This story is about two little girls, growing up halfway across Thedas from one another. One of the little girls grew up in Rivain. Her name was Naishe.”

 

Her daughter twisted in her grasp, turning to stare up at her with wide, reverent eyes. “Just like me?” She gasped.

 

Isabela chuckled. “Yes, sweetness. Just like you.” She didn't dare look at Hawke who, of course, never knew their child was named after Isabela herself. 'A tether to her Rivaini roots,' she'd told her, because saying that it was her way of reminding herself to always be a better mother, to never let her child down seemed a terribly uncomfortable conversation to have. It turned out the kid looked exactly like her, and she really didn't need the name to be reminded, but still. It was nice to think Naishe would get the chance to grow up she was denied, and Isabela would vicariously get the childhood she'd never had. “Naishe never knew her father, he'd left before she was even born, and her mother was a very busy woman. Most of the time, Naishe found herself on her own, wandering around the village and relying on the elder women to feed her. Sometimes, her mother would disappear for days. Others, she'd be in bed all day, yelling at Naishe for not keeping their small house clean enough.”

 

“She sounds like a mean lady.” Naishe muttered, wrapping her arms around Isabela's waist as if she could sense she needed the comfort.

 

“She was.” Isabela sighed, shaking her head, unable to believe what she was about to say. “But it wasn't her fault, not entirely. A child is a big responsibility, and she just wasn't ready.” Hawke pressed a soft kiss into her hair, and she let out a shaky breath. She suddenly realized her chest and throat were tight with the threat of tears. “But that's not the point. One day, Naishe was... taken... from her mother by a mean man who wanted to hurt her. She got free, and swore she would never let another person be mean to her again. She changed her name, and sailed the world as the most fearsome pirate in the Eastern seas.

 

Halfway across Thedas, there was a little girl born into a loving family. Her mother was a noblewoman who had renounced her gilded life for her love, an apostate on the run.”

 

“No, Mami. Uncle Varric's already _told_ me the story of the Champion. He tells it better than you.” Naishe cut her off with an eye roll. Anyone who spent more than an hour with the girl could tell you she was definitely Hawke's child. “I like the part where she kills the Arishok.”

 

“Me, too.” Hawke chimed in with a grin. “Tell us that part, Bela.” She leaned in to brush her lips along Isabela's ear. “I especially like the part where the hero gets her 'thank you' kiss, and even gets to decide where to plant it.”

 

Isabela rolled her eyes. Impossible, the both of them. “Just shut up and listen, will you? This is a different story.” Isabela swatted at her daughter's arm, and Naishe half-heartedly attempted to squirm from her grasp. “Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. The Fereldan girl. You're right, she would grow up to become the Champion. Her name was Marian, and she had a  Mother who doted on her and held her when she was sad; a Father who looked out for her and protected her; a brother  who was kind of a pain, but loved his older sister dearly and defended her no matter what; and a sister  whose smile always warmed her heart and brought her joy . But it wasn't an easy path. Along the way, she lost  them all: her  f ather, her  m other, her  b rother, and her  s ister. But you know what?”

 

Naishe was looking up at her with sad eyes. Varric had apparently never told her  _that_ part before. “What?”

 

“She wasn't alone. Because while she'd lost on her journey, she'd also gained. Ser Manhands, the valiant city guard captain, who always looked out for the Champion, even when she didn't do the right thing; Daisy, the Dalish mage who brought the Champion flowers and never lost her joy, even when things got really tough; Elmand, the dwarf who would talk a dragon out of breathing fire if it meant she was kept safe; Broody, the former slave and her faithful bodygaurd; Justice, the passionate mage who tended all of her wounds with a gentle hand; and, of course, most important of them all, Gabriella, the fearsome pirate who once was a little girl in Rivain who had no family to speak of.”

 

“She's the one the Champion protected from the Arishok!” She twisted in Isabela's arms to stare up at her with glee.

 

Isabela couldn't help but grin back, and she tapped Naishe's nose with her index finger affectionately. “That's right, sweetness.  Gabriella and the Champion were in love, and spent so much time together they were practically joined at the hip. ”  She shot a teasing smirk at Hawke.

 

“They _were_ , if I remember the story correctly. Whenever they could help it. In the market, at fancy parties, at the tavern, in their rooms...” Hawke leaned in for a quick kiss.

 

“Gabriella had a child, and when she came, the Champion was right there by her side, holding her hand. They raised that baby together and loved her very much. Though the Champion sometimes got sad because she missed her parents and siblings, and though Gabriella sometimes got sad because she had been alone for so many years, they were both happy because they had each other, and they had their friends, and they never had to be alone again.” She brushed a lock of hair out of Naishe's face. “Do you understand, sweetness?”

 

She nodded. “I think so, Mami.”

 

“Good.” She nudged the girl off her lap and stood, striding easily over to where her daggers hung on the coat rack. “Now, Mami has some nobles to talk to.”

 

“Bela.” Hawke warned, taking the daggers out of her hands, and Isabela braced herself for a lecture on diplomacy. Instead, Hawke simply said, “tomorrow.” A slow grin spread across her lips. “We'll do it together.”

 

Maker, she loved that woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time ever writing kidfic, hope I did it justice.


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